The Boy
by Compulsive-Winkster
Summary: Set in the canonical universe 40 years before the events of the first book when the Targaryens still sat upon the Iron Throne. This story involves a boy servant and his story of tragedy and vengeance. This is my first Fan Fiction and I hope you enjoy it


**The Boy**

It was a warm early evening. The kind you find yourself tossing around in bed to find the right spot right after supper. This was not one of those evenings, instead I find myself riding full gallop with the castellan and our master at arms along a beaten path to seven knows where. I do not mind the change in routine in all honesty, scrubbing pots and floors while singing was what I started out doing since I can remember.

I was very excited when the young lord choose me as his squire during that awful display of knights and ladies with the other young servants, he had appeared before us in the heat of the moment of our little melee with sticks and my excitement had gotten the best of me while everyone had stood still that I yelled to the top of my lungs, "Victory and honor for house Reyne!" as I resumed the melee. I used the training I had done from watching the master at arms train the soldiers and quickly dispatched the bulk of the boys, except for the smith's son.

The biggest and oldest of the boys, he would always win the melees before and began to not participate when none of the boys wanted to challenge him, I was one of them. But not today, he stood well over us all, well enough for the young lord Reyne to see. I felt his fervor for favor, and I had met him with my own. Whether it was courage or madness, I stepped forward and drew my wooden blade. He stomped his way towards me and raised his own wooden blade till the young lord had signaled for attention. "My my, what a display. Surely a climatic exchange such as this requires appropriate equipment."

Wooden shields and wooden short swords were brought forward. I eagerly accepted, quickly fitting myself with a proper sword and shield. I see the smith's son had already fitted himself, our eyes met with an exchange of conviction to fight for victory in the sight of our young lord. "I see two cats in the field who play lions, the victor of this match will ride beside and personally serve the young red lion." Heated passion had swelled within me as I charged forward to meet an exchange of blows upon my shield and to return blow for blow. Our shields met and neither of us would yield as if our lives depended on it.

There it was, the shift in favor as I slid his shield and weight past me for a series of quick slashes to the hind of his lower legs. He grunted and turned reeling from the attack facing me with shield raised. This was it, I held my shield firm as I charged and bashed him through his defense into the ground. His shield had flown from his grip into the crowd while I stomped on his blade and held the tip of my sword to his throat, as the dust settled I had heard the smith's son say, "I yield."

I did it. A roar had risen from the spectators which had grown over thrice the size it had originally been and I met their cheers with roars of my own, I quickly realized what I had done and kneeled toward the young lord. "That was quite a roar if I had ever heard one, who knew we had such a lion underneath our noses." I was at a loss for words, to act so brash and barbaric in his presence. "I deeply apologize for such a display my lord." I just didn't know what to do, I met his eyes and I saw that he was deeply staring at me, like a beast's gaze upon prey. "And you don't cease to pique my interest, where did you learn to speak proper? No matter, I want you. Follow me."

I stood only to find that I had miscalculated my own fatigue and began to fall forward. I suppose it was presumptions of me to expect myself to walk away from this unscathed, yet I did not hit the ground since the ground was not red or silk. I turned my head up to find myself in his arms and face to face with the lord Reyne. I shuffle to find my footing and stand straight up staring at the ground around his feet. Once again I had absolutely no words to describe the amount of shame I had just dealt myself. I felt a grip on my shoulder, "Strong, Intelligent, and talented. With a bit of wit you'd be quite the bard." Great, he knows I've been singing during duties. But his tone was soft and playful, maybe he isn't like the rest of his family. Maybe he's different. "What's your name?" he continued, "The kitchen and halls call me singing boy or scrubber boy." I replied, they actually call me shit instead of boy. "What? You don't have a name? Well then, what would you like to be called?" I hadn't given that much thought, but one word struck a chord in me. "I like the word Bard."

I had almost fell off the saddle when I caught myself dozing off, beaten path, lots of trees, warm night. I saw a small village ahead, a lumber village from the logistics of it. I looked back towards the castle and noticed something odd. The sun doesn't rise in that direction.


End file.
